Growing Stronger Through the Ashes
by N. H. Moonshadow
Summary: Dean had spent years accommodating only one or two other people in his daily life, and now he was forced to deal with up to a dozen at any specific time, and some days it was all he could do to keep from snatching up the nearest piece of weaponry and lessening that number by at least one. Just another typical morning at the Bunker. (S9 AU)


_Note: Gift fic for Linda92595 for this year's Team Free Love's Secret Lover Exchange. Characters in the content below do not belong to me, I merely borrowed them. Please enjoy and tell me what you think!- Shadow_

**Growing Stronger Through the Ashes  
**

_Even traveling by Angel Air, Dean was still too late to stop Sam._

_Two seconds too late to stop his brother._

_That was Dean's lot in life, wasn't it? To always be too late to stop the only people that matter in his life, never able to diffuse problems until the situation hit critical. That was his curse no matter how he fought it, kicking and screaming._

_It was amazing what a difference two seconds can make, two insignificant little fractions of time that held the power to change everything in the span of a heart beat._

_ He burst into the church just as Sam laid a bloody hand on Crowley, the demon still shackled to the chair in front of him. Orange light flared, bright and burning, sending a pulse of _something_ out in a shockwave that rocked the building down to its foundations. As the spots slowly cleared from his vision, he saw a silently sobbing Crowley staring up at Sam, his brother swaying where he stood. Sam's knees suddenly buckled, the rest of his body following like a felled tree, coming to rest silent and still on the dirty church floor._

_ It was Cold Oak all over again. _

_Dean bolted, Sam's name echoing off the walls as he screamed, _no no no no _burning a mantra in his head, followed by _not again.

_He laid hands on his brother, and it was all he could do to keep breathing and strangle the cry that threatened to escape his throat. What came out instead was a hollow laugh and a soft, but harsh, "that lying bitch."_

_Relief swept through him and he couldn't help as he kept laughing, louder and tinged with hysteria. _

_ Sammy did it, the Gates of Hell were now super glued shut for good. Permanently closed for business. Demons had been fucking with their lives since day one, now the only ones they had to worry about were the ones left topside when the doors locked._

_ But that didn't matter right now._

_ Because this time_, this time_, Sam was still breathing when the dust settled. Unconscious, but breathing._

_ And at that exact moment, Dean didn't give a damn about anything else._

Dean woke alone and to the smell of something burning.

The older Winchester groaned and rolled over to squint at the digital clock sitting on the nightstand, blocky neon numbers cheerfully declaring it 4:37 AM.

He groaned again and face-planted back into his pillow, seriously contemplating just ignoring it and going back to sleep, but that was countered by the very real possibility that if he _did_ the bunker would probably be in ruins when he woke again.

Griping under his breath about housemates with _no_ _God-damned sense of time_, Dean rolled out of bed and scrounged up a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and blearily make his way to the source of his wake-up call.

His nose led him to the kitchen where two winged figures stood huddled together over the smoldering stove, the pair locked in a quiet argument.

"What the _hell _do you two think you're doing?"

Matching sets of gold-tipped wings flailed in surprise, as their owners turned. Their guilty expressions reminding Dean of when Sam was five and Dean had caught him in the middle of raiding his stash of candy.

Channeling as much Big-Brother-Annoyance as he could, he crossed his arms over his chest and glared. Was it wrong that he took pride in the fact that he could make two millennia-old angels squirm like children?

The shorter one, a stocky brunette with charcoal eyes, elbowed his brother and hissed, "I _told _you we should have waited."

The other was taller, with a younger vessel, and was paler all around with more delicate features. He pushed back against his brother, using one wing to shove him out of his space. "Hush, Ramiel!" he hissed back before giving Dean a nervous, but hopeful smile. "We were, um, making breakfast?"

"Oh for the love of-" Dean strode forward, clearly agitated, and hiked a thumb over his shoulder. "Out! You two know the rules; no unsupervised angels in the kitchen. If you want food, you wait until normal hours like everyone else. Now, scram!"

The pair scurried out, their wings hitched up around their ears in what Dean had learned was embarrassment, bickering back and forth as they retreated.

With the angels temporarily banished, Dean leveled a baleful look at the state of his kitchen and the biohazard it had become. Knowing that simply glaring at it was pointless, he huffed out a frustrated sigh and quickly set to work on cleaning up the mess. He had no clue what those featherbrains were trying to make, even with the assorted ingredients strewn about, but the resulting product was clearly inedible.

Apparently Cooking 101 needed to be added to the roster, but he had a hunch he would drive himself loony before anyone learned anything useful. Sam on his best day couldn't cook anything that didn't come with microwave instructions, and Cas barely had the basics down. Maybe, if he played his cards right and had the proper bribery, he could pass the job off on Benny, but he wouldn't count on it. Which meant that the teaching would most likely fall to him. Honestly, Dean didn't know if he had the patience.

It didn't help that Dean was still adjusting to having so many new faces living close quarters. Dean had spent years accommodating only one or two other people in his daily life, and now he was forced to deal with up to a dozen at any specific time, and some days it was all he could do to keep from snatching up the nearest piece of weaponry and lessening that number by at least one.

And "People" was a pretty broad term these days.

The usual riffraff aside, plus a few extras, these days the bunker was crawling with fallen angels and reformed demons alike, the latter coming and going with an ease that probably had the past Men of Letters rolling around in their graves. But it wasn't like they had anywhere else to go.

Thankfully, Crowley kept his portion of the crew more or less in-hand, so there was less drama from their group than you would think. Demons were all human once upon a time, and the majority of the one's they'd collected so far wanted to be once again. The reasons varied, of course. Some simply wanted to avoid a good smiting from roaming angels, others wanted to be free of the threat of being sent back to Hell. _That _was a fun little discovery, that you could still exorcise a topside demon and send them on a trip downstairs, a one-way flight with no return ticket. Once word of that spread through the remaining Hunter network, demons quickly became scarce, and the ones that remained were quick to adapt or reform.

Now angels on the other hand . . . on the whole, they were having a more difficult time adjusting to life on Earth, and it wasn't like they could just blend in with the human population like demons.

As some weird result of The Fall (as historians had lamely dubbed it), every angel had manifested a set of physical honest-to-God wings, making it impossible for them to hide in plain sight. They still had their grace, though to what extent varied from angel to angel, but even with diminished powers they were still notoriously hard to kill. Angel blades had become highly coveted items because of it, and angels refrained from using them these days to prevent them from falling in the wrong hands.

Governments around the world had various reactions to their new neighbors, some violently, more religious countries treating the Fallen like royals, believing that they had been sent to lead them into a new era. Dean was quick to note that the angels that fell in with them kept silent on the whole "Daddy's Gone" issue. Can't say he blamed them for that.

Droves of angels ended up hiding in reclusive corners of the planet with firm demands to be left alone, wanting nothing more to do with humanity. Others were curious and took to the world more readily, eager to learn, or explore, or simply observe. Their number was few, but it wasn't unusual to see them make headlines with random acts of kindness or exploration. One healed a little girl's dog after it got hit by a car, another helped with a construction project, the video clip of a thin man with cream-colored wings hefting steel beams over one shoulder went viral overnight. Then there was the memorable occasion when Dean nearly sprayed coffee all over Sam's laptop when he stumbled across the angel who had decided to take up modeling, their debut photo shoot being for Victoria's Secret.

But some angels were just . . . _lost_. With no home, no orders, and no one to turn to for direction, those angels wandered, shell-shocked. Some of them had been injured in the Fall itself, and other supernatural creatures were quick to prey on their weakened state. These were usually the ones Cas brought back with him, that is if they didn't attack him right off the bat anyway. By now they had practically collected a whole flock of strays, and every one of them were in different states of coherency.

The Men of Letters bunker had officially become a halfway home for the supernatural.

Mihael and Ramiel were normally some of their quieter and well-grounded residents, but if they tried to "help" one more time Dean was ready to drop kick them both right out of the bunker.

When the kitchen was once again spotless, Dean realized that he was far too aware to go back to sleep. If he was up, the least he could do was make sure the rest of their motley group was doing alright. He scrubbed his face with both hands and decided to make the rounds.

The storage room was the closest, normally he wouldn't bother, but the door was open and the lights were on. Dean paused by the door, his eyes quickly spotting the two men sitting at the rickety old card table near the back on the room. He recognized Crowley as he poured a generous amount of scotch into a glass and slid it towards the man sitting across from him. Dean couldn't remember the guy's name, Gary, Greg, something with a 'G', but he was quick to note the tell-tale tremors, paleness and a few smudges of blood left up near his hairline. He took the glass, staring blankly at the amber liquid as he rolled the glass between his palms.

Crowley's eyes flicked in his direction, and Dean saw him give a subtle little flick of his wrist, clearly shooing him away. Obviously he had everything under control.

Knowing he wasn't wanted, Dean moved on, leaving as silently as he came.

The firing range was quiet, all the equipment clean and tucked into it's proper place. Hell, someone had even taken the time to sweep up all the shell casings that usually littered the entire room. Sam's doing, he'd bet money on it, either by his own had or supervised while he had one of the others do it.

There were quiet murmurs of conversation floating up from the row of private quarters. Not so unusual, it was almost six and their flock of angels usually began to stir around this time. Not that they actually slept, but after enough complaints from human and demon residents alike, they learned of acceptable hours of activity and proper noise levels.

Except when they attempted to make breakfast apparently.

There was a soft thud, a rustle of feathers and in the blink of an eye Dean was ducking around wings as Mihael bolted past him and disappeared at the end of the hall.

Dean blinked at the now empty hall. "Okay," he drew the word out slow and rubbed his face again, just in case he had hallucinated the angel speeding through the hallway. There were still voices in the room that featherbrain had just vacated, and Dean recognized it as one of the several rooms that the resident angels shuffled amongst themselves. None of their strays slept, but they had come to appreciate the luxury of having somewhere quiet to retreat to.

Justifying to himself that the open door was a clear invitation, Dean nosily popped his head into the room. "Everything okay in here?"

Ramiel paused at his arrival, clearly in the middle of re-bandaging Ezekiel's mangled wings. He sat cross-legged behind his brother, a fresh roll of medical tape in one hand. Dean couldn't help but note the fresh blood on the old bandages lying on the floor, and suppressed the urge to wince.

Ezekiel had been here for months now and was still recovering from his time with an enthusiastic group of demons who had been delighted to find a broken angel as their new plaything. He had been dragged half dead into their little sanctuary back when Castiel first returned. Dean didn't know any specifics other than the fact that Cas somehow caught wind of it on his way to the bunker. When Dean found Cas standing there at their doorstep, wings and all, he barely had a moment for the relief to set in before he took note of the second angel slumped against his friend, bloody and barely conscious.

All of Ezekiel's other injuries had healed, but his wings were completely decimated. Whatever had been used on them made them immune to angelic healing, forcing them to heal the old fashion way. The flesh was slowly returning to the limbs but Dean was beginning to doubt that he would ever regain his full plumage. As it was, all he had was a smattering of coffee-colored flight feathers on each wing and some scraggly patches of down.

The large angel looked haggard but he still gave Dean a polite smile. "Hello, Dean. I hope we did not disturb your rest."

Dean waved his hand dismissively as he stepped further into the doorway. "Nah. Chef Ramsay over there and his sidekick had that honor over an hour ago." He pointed at Ramiel as the angel opened his mouth. "_Don't _apologize. I'm not mad. How are the wings, Zeke?"

Ramiel closed his mouth and finished the wing he had been bandaging, allowing Ezekiel to test his range of motion, taking care not to disturb the bindings. "Better," he admitted to the hunter. "They ache less and less every day."

"Good. That's good. So . . . was there a particular reason I had to play dodge-the-angel with Mihael just now?"

Zeke smiled more broadly at Ramiel's scowl. "As enthusiastic as our brother is to give his assistance, I'm afraid he tends to become more of a hindrance in this case. We sent him to fetch us more medical supplies."

Dean nodded. "Need me or Cas for anything then?"

Ezekiel graced him with a softer, grateful look as he drew freshly wrapped wing to fold gingerly at his back, spreading the other out for Ramiel to examine. "I thank you for your concern, Dean, but there is no reason to bother Castiel. We have everything well in hand."

"Well, alright then." Dean patted the doorframe and focused on Ramiel. "I'm gonna start breakfast in a few hours if you're still interested in helping."

"Of course, Dean. I'll tell Mihael."

Dean nodded and continued down the hall. The rest of the residential section was quiet, and so he made is way up to the main floor. If anyone else was up then they usually hovered around the war room or the library, the only exception being the un-cured demons. The war room was fine, but all the traps and wards lining the library's perimeter preventing them from stepping foot inside.

The first thing Dean saw as he crossed into the war room was a familiar figure slumped over an open laptop, clearly out for the count. There was a second laptop resting closed few seats down, and old tomes and loose sheets of paper strewn between the two computers.

Looked like someone had pulled an all night research session. Gates of Hell might be closed, but there were still enough hunts to keep them busy. There was so many of them these days that they worked on an odd rotational schedule. Dean and Cas had just gotten back from their hunt yesterday. Having an angel, even graceless as he was now, did wonders for convincing a priest that yes they _did_ need to destroy their newly acquired "Holy" relic if they he wanted the local murders to stop.

Having angels living in the open made hunting much easier. People were becoming more forthcoming with odd occurrences, and were less suspicious these days when FBI agents asked bizarre questions.

Dean stepped up to the dark-haired figure sleeping at the table.

"Hey, Kevin, wake up man." Dean dropped a hand to the young man's shoulder and gave it a short vigorous shake. Kevin bolted upright, and Dean tried not to laugh at the partial imprint of the keyboard he had plastered on one side of his face. "Dude, have you been here all night? The table can't be that comfy."

Kevin stared at him blearily and then scrubbed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "Depends. What time is it?"

"Almost six."

Dean _did_ laugh at the strangled noise Kevin made in his throat. "Are you _serious_?"

"Yep." Dean couldn't help but cheerfully pop the P before gesturing at the strewn papers. "So, what's the Big Bad this time?"

"European Demi-God that relocated to Oklahoma." Kevin sat back in his seat and stretched his arms over his head. There was several satisfyingly loud pops as he arched his back. "Benny killed the bastard already, but apparently the thing was a hoarder of magical objects. Sam and I were identifying objects all night so Benny knew which ones were safe for him to move. Last I remember, Charlie texted saying she was heading over to help Benny sort it all out."

Now there was a sentence to wrap his head around.

He patted the kid's shoulder. "If it's being handled you should get some real sleep. In an actual bed."

Kevin swatted at his hand in annoyance before shuffling to his feet. "Yes mom."

Dean lightly cuffed him in the back of his head for his cheek, but all Kevin did was chuckle and disappear into the doorway that lead back to the residential area.

If nothing else, Kevin had settled surprisingly well given their new housemates and had taken to the role of researcher like a duck to water. Sure, when he first saw Crowley enter the bunker Kevin had pounced, delivering a well-aimed right hook at his jaw. Luckily Dean pulled him away before the little prophet could deliver something more permanent. It didn't take long for Kevin to realize that the King of Hell was off, especially when he kept spewing apologies. Kevin had been quick to ask what was _wrong_ with him. These days the two were far from friends, but at least they could work together if a job absolutely called for it.

_Small steps_, he reminded himself.

Lost in his own thoughts Dean mounted the steps into the library, and was brought up short by the Hallmark Moment laid out before him.

Not long after the Bunker had been settled by over half a dozen people, one of the chairs in the library had been mysteriously replaced by a couch that was long enough to accommodate even the lankiest of residents. The thing was made of faded black suede and kind of beat up, but it was one of the comfiest pieces of furniture Dean had ever been on, his bed excluded of course.

He couldn't help but smile at the two figures curled up together, limbs all tangled together. Gabriel was sitting mostly upright, head tilted against the backrest, one oversized gold wing draped over Sam like a blanket, while the other spilled over the armrest and onto the floor. Under the mass of feathers Dean could see that his brother was using the archangel's thighs as a pillow, and had one arm wrapped possessively around his waist. The other hand had slipped off the couch to bury his finger through the feathers they found there.

There were only two angels in the world who actually needed to sleep and both of them called the bunker home.

_Dean sat there at Sam's bedside, adamantly ignoring the soft beeping of medical equipment to stare at the TV suspended on the wall. His eyes were glued to the same newscast he had been following for the last two hours. Earlier one of the nurses tried to shut it off, claiming all the chatter of Armageddon was disturbing the other patients. He had scared her off, and had apparently done a proper job of it since no one else had bothered them, except to chart down Sam's vitals._

_ He tried not to think about the words that the doctor had said earlier, Dean only absorbing and clinging to words like _coma _and _stable_, and willfully ignored _slow deterioration_. Everything else was swept aside and mentally cataloged for closer examination later. There were over a dozen different things wrong or on the verge of failure in his brother's body, but Sam was stable._

_ One crisis at a time, thanks._

_ In the entire time it took to get Sam checked out and situated Dean hadn't heard anything about Cas. _

_ He clutched his cell between his palms, laced fingers creating a cage for the small device. If he bothered to look, the screen displayed a flood of texts from Kevin demanding updates, and Charlie, who was feeding him a steady stream of classified info that the government was desperately trying to keep from the public._

_ Personally, Dean gave it another hour _tops_ before the weak explanation of a "global meteor shower" dissolved completely. Men and women with giant wings popping out of the woodwork wasn't exactly something you could just sweep under the rug, especially when some of them were extremely hostile._

_ This whole thing was a nightmare, and wasn't even close to what Cas had hoped to accomplish._

_ It just figured that mind-fucking bitch would mix lies with truth, and all in the same breath. The trials hadn't killed Sam, not immediately anyway, but the angels had been booted out of heaven. Dean hoped wherever Naomi was, that she found herself lying on the charcoaled imprints of her own wings._

_ He prayed to Cas, hoping that he hadn't met the same end, that he wasn't lying somewhere cold and broken where Dean couldn't find him. In his prayers he told him where they were and about Sammy's condition, begging him to come if he could, or give them a damned phone call just to know that he was still breathing. _

_But no one had seen hide nor hair from him since he had dumped Dean off at the church. Charlie was on the lookout, searching John Does across the nation, but so far she hadn't found anyone that matched Castiel's description._

_Whatever had happened up there, Dean _knew_ that Cas had been sitting at the epicenter of the whole damn thing. Dean had seen firsthand how wrathful angels could be when they believed they've been wronged, and as it stands, it was a pretty safe bet to say that the earth bound Holy Host wasn't too happy with Cas right about now. But Cas was a tough bastard, they knew it, Dean knew it, and had a Winchester track record for staying dead._

_Cas was fine. He had to be._

_Dean was abruptly pulled from his thoughts by a commotion down the hall. There was the distinct sound of a scuffle and the startled screams of the nurses, and one lone person shouting for security._

_Pocketing his phone, Dean rose to his feet and quietly made his way towards the door. As he crept closer, he let his hand drift towards Ruby's knife, tucked safely inside his jacket. He peered around the corner, and immediately went for the angel blade stashed in the other pocket instead. Weapon in hand, he stepped silently into the hall, intent on neutralizing the threat. _

_Cold fingers clamped over his wrist, staying his hand, and a smooth voice spoke into his ear. "Easy there brother."_

_Dean's head whipped around, taking in a familiar scruffy face that went with the voice, resisting the urge to strike on principle. "Benny? How-"_

_The vampire gave a small smile, flashing a bit of fang. "We both have Sam to thank, but we'll explain all that later."_

_The older Winchester frowned at that statement._

_We?_

_Dean turned back to where the noise was, and where he could see hospital staff cowering behind a nurses station._

_A sandy-haired angel stood with his back to them, stance firm and wings mantled in what looked like aggression. Pure gold wings filled the hallway, feathers brushing up against the walls even with them only partially extended. It took Dean a moment to realize that there was a second angel, with paler and less impressive wings, but he was hard to see clearly with Goldie in the way._

_Apparently he was angry too._

"_Stand aside brother!" he snarled. "Those two have brought nothing but death and chaos to our brethren! Now we are cast out, and doubtless they and Castiel played a part! They are not worth protecting!"_

_Dean froze when a familiar voice answered, far more serious than he had ever heard it. "That's not up to you." Then more airily, "You know, the last time I had this conversation? Didn't work out so well for me. Luckily for me, you're no Lucy."_

_There was a flurry of movement and feathers, silver flashing between the two bodies. Someone gasped and the pale-winged angel slumped to the ground, followed by a bright flare of light. Even grounded, it appeared that angel wings still left scorch marks in death._

_Gold wings now folded against his back, the surviving angel turned, mouth curving into a half-hearted smirk. "Well hey there, Deano. What did you two muttonheads get into this time?" _

_It didn't take much to call off security, especially when a bullet through the chest did nothing more than piss Gabriel off. Benny made it a point of informing the gathered crowd that they were only there to collect their friends and then they would be on their way. They weren't given much choice in the matter._

_And so here they were, standing all together in Sam's hospital room. Benny stood guard at the door, Dean paced the length of Sam's bed like an agitated dog and resisted the urge to growl as Gabriel brushed past him to settle next to his brother on the bed._

_Green eyes flicked between two supposedly dead allies. "Mind telling me how either of you are topside?" he spared the vampire a glance before settling on Gabriel. "I mean, Benny I at least know how it's possible, but you? Did the Big Man finally decide to bring you back after all this time? Not gonna lie, we could have used your help ages ago."_

"_So I've been told. But mind if we have this conversation when your brother's not wasting away in a coma?" Not waiting for a reply Gabriel rested a hand against Sam's pale cheek. The tenderness in the gesture made Dean's sarcastic comment die in his throat. "Aw man. Trials sure did a number on you, didn't they kiddo?"_

_And suddenly Dean was grateful that from his angle he couldn't see the expression that went with that tone of voice. It didn't mesh well with his perception of Gabriel at all._

_Gabriel's palm slid up to Sam's forehead, soft light illuminating where their flesh met. "C'mon, Sammy," he coaxed. "Time to wake up."_

_Dean wanted to cry when Sam's eyes cracked open. His little brother still looked like shit, but _damn_ it was good to see him awake, and scrunch his face in a weary but recognizable bitch face._

"_Gabriel?" _

"_Yep!" the voice was so chipper, that if Dean hadn't been in the room the whole time, he would have believed it to be genuine. "Let's say we all blow this joint, yeah?"_

_By the time they made it to the Bunker and got Crowley locked in one of the sparsely furnished rooms (more for Kevin's piece of mind than anything), Charlie had already arrived and joined in on the odd little pow-wow that was happening in the war room. _

_As it turned out, when an angel dies they go to purgatory._

_Dean had been all over that statement as soon as the words left Gabriel's mouth. Him and Cas had spent a whole _year_ wandering around purgatory and neither of them had caught even a whisper of any other angelic beings. Gabriel stated that even if they had they wouldn't have recognized them for what they were._

_As soon as a deceased angel entered Purgatory their essence is kind of _scattered_. Their grace dissipates and is absorbed into the fabric of purgatory itself. What's left after that, their memories, their very sense of self dissolves and they drift through the realm, barely conscious, much less sentient. Most dissipate completely not long after they arrive._

_Gabriel admitted he had spent most of his time like that, but every so often something would trigger a memory, a voice, a sensation, and he would have brief moments of clarity. But it never lasted, sometimes he could last an hour, maybe two, and he would wander again, thoughtless. _

_The running theory was that he was able to cling to anything at all because of the centuries he spent as Loki. If you spent enough time parading as a pagan god, eventually you accumulate power to go with the title, and apparently it was enough to help._

_When Sam had been waylaid in Purgatory during the second trial, Gabriel had been there hovering at the perimeter, lured by the familiar voice but had difficulty latching on to the sense of self lingering just beyond his grasp. _

_And then danger arrived, and another monster came to the rescue, a vampire, and made to send Sam on his way._

_When Gabriel finally pulled himself together enough to recognize Sam as someone important to him, he caught the tail end of the vampire telling Sam to leave without him, to tell Dean thank you._

_Dean. Sam._

Winchester_._

_Gabriel's memories snapped into place just as the portal closed behind Sam. _

_But the vampire was still here, the one who knew both Winchesters, who was their ally, who stayed behind._

_Benny had butted in to inform their captive audience that Gabriel, at the time little more than light and wings, had wrapped around Benny like a shield and promptly vaporized the surrounding enemies. Needless to say, the vampire had been terrified at first, especially when this glowey, angry ball of light started _talking to him, _demanding a constant stream of information_.

_He kept Benny talking about Sam and Dean, and even Castiel, keeping him grounded and his memories fresh, preventing him from reverting to a mindless mist. Eventually he was able to rebuild his home-made vessel, giving them their ticket back to the land of the living._

_Dean had no clue what Gabriel had said to get Benny to return as well, but he was grateful to the bastard even if he wouldn't ever admit it. _

_They had lost enough friends, and they had precious few to begin with._

_Sam was walking but still far from well, and Cas was still missing, but this was a start. Their team was up by two, and Dean clung to the hope that things could only get better, that this was that damn light at the end of the tunnel Sammy was so adamant was there. _

_He wouldn't let himself believe otherwise._

Brushing off the memories Dean refocused on the here and now. He spotted Sam's cell lying on a nearby end table and grinned.

Silent as a mouse Dean crept over and snatched up the little device and opened up the camera feature. He waited for the lens to focus and snapped a picture and hastily e-mailed it to himself. "Well aren't you two just too precious for words."

One honey-brown eye cracked open. "Bite me Deano," Gabe groused quietly, as to not wake Sam. "Don't act like you and Castiel don't have your fair share of sappy moments."

"Pictures or it didn't happen Goldilocks."

"You don't _even_ want to know the kind of dirt I have on you two, Bucko."

Dean raised his hands in mock surrender, it was a temporary truce at best, but that was just how the two of them were.

Both of them freeze when Sam mumbles something, but all he does is turn his head to snuggle into Gabriel's hip, his breath evening out again as he settles. Dean admirably doesn't tease Gabriel about the gooey smile that had crept over the angel's face as he carded a hand through his brother's hair.

"So how's he doing?" Dean asks instead, quietly. "Like, how's he _really _doing?"

Usually Dean avoided even mentioning _anything_ about the whole Gabriel-Sam-Pagan-Magic-Healing-Thing, because _ewww_, but he thought maybe this question was safe enough.

He really should have known better.

"Better. Much better. Another week and his stamina should be back to normal." A wicked smirk grew on Gabriel's face. "In _fact_, with all the extra cardio we've been doing it should be better than ever. And his _flexibility-"_

Dean clamped his hands over his ears and beat a hasty retreat before he could hear the finer details of Sam and Gabriel's rather _active_ sex life. Serves him right for attempting a heart to heart with the trickster. He would have to find a way to get revenge at a later date.

The Bunker's residents had gotten used to Dean and Gabe's random bouts of prank wars, and as long as the only victims were each other and the tricks didn't result in blood or broken bones they all just sat back and left them to it. He remembered hearing Cas explain to the rest of the flock that it was a "strange, but harmless bonding ritual". Most of them didn't look all that convinced.

He _really _wished that Cas hadn't used that exact wording in regards to him and Gabriel. There was only one Winchester Gabriel was bonded to, and it bad enough that Dean had to play a part in the ritual to make it work.

Thank God he didn't have to stay for the whole thing, because, well, awkward didn't even begin to cover it.

Not that he _minded_ Sam and Gabe becoming a thing, not really. Sure, he gave Sam shit about it sometimes, it was his moral obligation as the big brother, but even _he _could see how good they were together.

It wasn't even a month after Gabriel and Benny had moved into the Bunker that Sam had come out and make a rather stuttering confession about their relationship status. Dean had been dubious at first, especially since Sam still wasn't getting better, even with regular sessions of angelic healing courtesy of said archangel. But Sam was honest about the whole thing, so the least Dean could do was give them a chance.

Then a mere two weeks ago, the healing sessions stopped working, sending Sam spiraling.

Gabriel had presented the solution, but he had looked so damn nervous when he explained it to both Winchester brothers. It was a modified pagan ritual, a type of offering. In the original ritual, an object was offered, along with willingly spilled blood, and if it was accepted the object that was being offered would be blessed by the deity. Usually the goal in this ritual is to acquire weaponry, or other objects of power, but in this case the ritual would need to be slightly modified to suit their needs. Essentially, it boiled down to Dean offering Sam up as an offering to Loki, _Gabriel_, but instead of giving Sam a dose of magic he planned to leave his grace.

All of it.

It would be permanent life support for the rest of Sam's natural life. But the ties it would create were . . . invasive and irreversible. He refused to do it unless they were both one hundred percent clear on all the nitty-gritty details. Plus there was the unknown factor of whether or not Sam would encounter side-effects, since the ritual had never been done quite like this before.

As much as the whole thing weirded him out, Dean was all for saving Sam's life.

Sam was the one who took convincing. He didn't like the idea of Gabriel wasting his grace like that, not on him.

The resulting explosion from Gabriel regarding what exactly he thought Sam _deserved_ would forever endear him to Dean. Not that he would ever tell him that.

Well, in the end Sam agreed, and it had worked. Sam had been lethargic since the whole ordeal, but looked better than Dean had seen him since before either of them had been to Hell. The only juice Gabriel had left was the remnants from his time as Loki. The thing he bitched about the loudest was his lack of candy whenever he felt like it.

Dean made sure that a bag of sweets made it back whenever there was a supply run, just to shut him up.

Still grumbling to himself about mental scarring, Dean finished his rounds and came to the realization that he hadn't seen Cas.

It wasn't unusual for Dean to wake up alone. Cas sometimes had trouble sleeping, and instead of annoying Dean with a face full of feathers as he tossed and turned he would go and find something productive to do.

Since he obviously hadn't helped with Sam and Kevin's research session, Dean had an idea where he was.

He made his way to the far side of the Bunker and mounted the steps leading up to the garage. A tidy row of classic and antique vehicles sat in their respective stalls, all cars and trucks lining one wall, and a handful of motorcycles in the other, most left over from the glory days of the Men of Letters. Of course there were more recent additions as well, though the stalls that normally housed Benny's truck and Charlie's car were notably empty.

Dean ran an affectionate hand over Baby's hood as he walked past her, making his way to the very back of the garage, where there was a large bay set aside for maintenance and repairs.

A pleased grin spread across his face at the lovely view before him.

There was Cas, his back to Dean and elbows-deep under the hood of an old Ford Bronco.

Charlie had shown up with it one day out of the blue and had promptly handed over the keys to Cas, saying since most angels couldn't actually fly with their wings it would be a good mode of transportation for the flock. So long as the top was off it could carry four of them, wings and all, comfortably. Cas had quickly turned it into his personal pet project, and Dean had spent hours showing him the ins and outs of the vehicle. At the rate it was coming together, she would be gleaming and ready for long hauls in a matter of weeks. Less if Cas kept having sleepless nights, and if they didn't have a hunt that required their attention.

Dean was more of a Chevy man himself, but he could appreciate the occasional Ford, especially when his angel was involved. _Especially_ when his angel was shirtless, and sweaty and smudged with engine grease. Dean let his eyes rove over the planes of his back, fully enjoying play of muscles as Cas shifted or flexed one of his ebony wings.

Call him biased, but Cas had the coolest wings of any angel he had seen. From what he's seen, all the others had wings from purest white, to dark gold, and a whole variety of earth tones in between. But none of them could hold a candle to Castiel's, pure black and iridescent like a raven's wing when the light caught the feathers right.

One of Dean's new favorite pastimes was helping Cas maintain his wings, and he took any excuse to bury his fingers in their softness. Based on the ruffled edges and dull splotches marring the natural sheen of the feathers, it looked like Cas' wings would need a good cleaning session soon. If Dean was lucky, that would be on the schedule after breakfast. If he was really, _really _lucky he could make sure that they were good and dirty beforehand.

Still grinning like a loon, Dean crept up behind Cas. He waited until his angel paused, straitening up to wipe at forehead with the back of his hand. Dean swooped in, slotting himself right up against Castiel's back, one hand gliding over the waistline of his jeans to rest at his hip, the other snaking up his flank, tracing the muscles and sinking his fingers in the fine down where wing met shoulder. He nosed at Cas' ear. "Was wondering where you were."

"I'm sure you were." Cas shifted back, settling his weight firmly against Dean. He spread his wings a bit, inviting him to touch further. "Is it morning already?"

"Mmm hmm," Dean hummed, dipping down to nip playfully at the side of his neck. "What say you and I get cleaned up before we start breakfast for the household."

He didn't need to see his angel's face to know he had that tiny knowing smirk. "I'm sure that getting clean is the _only_ thing on your mind."

Fingers teased just below the pant line, and Dean gave a low chuckle as he realized Cas was going commando. "Absolutely."

"If you help me finish up here then I will be amiable to your suggestion." Cas tilted his head back against Dean's shoulder. "Are you sure you can keep your hands to yourself long enough to be productive?"

Productive. Sure, he could be productive.

"Dean."

Dean huffed and reluctantly pulled away. "Alright, alright. What were you working on?

They quickly settled in to work on the Bronco. The two of them worked in tandem with the ease of something that had become familiar and routine and they finished up quickly. The fact that the sooner they wrapped up the sooner he could get Cas naked beneath him was plenty of incentive to haul ass.

Dean dutifully kept his paws off Cas, despite the terrible temptation the angel made with his miles of bared skin and those glorious wings that seemed to accidentally brush up against him every few minutes.

The tease.

He got his revenge later when he had Cas pinned to the bathroom wall, mapping flesh with hands and tongue and teeth, seeking out every spot he knew would drive him crazy and exploiting them mercilessly. Dean loved the way those black wings would flail whenever Cas arched back, gasping as his hunter nipped and kissed and scratched all the right places, but deliberately avoided where he wanted attention the most.

Dean kept at it until Cas finally snapped, wrapping arms and legs and wings around him. Graceless as he was, Cas was still stronger than Dean, and it gave him a thrill whenever his angel would use all that muscle to draw him close just to growl, low and hot in his ear. "Dean, if you don't fuck me right now, I will take matters into my own hands and you will not be allowed to touch me for a week."

Well, he couldn't allow that, now could he?

It had taken them far too long to get here after all.

_Hours after Cas and his broken brother appeared at their doorstep, Dean found himself in the kitchen putting away the remnants of their meager dinner. None of them had much of an appetite after seeing the shredded remains of Ezekiel's wings. It didn't take long before Gabriel took over handling Ezekiel, promptly kicking all the humans from the room. No one complained on that front._

_ Despite the mild case of nausea, Dean felt more at ease than he had been in weeks. Cas was alive, he had survived whatever bullshit that had gone down in heaven and was in one piece. The tension that had steadily built since Cas first dropped off the map ease, and Dean felt lighter knowing that the angel was safe and roaming the building._

_ Dean was almost done when Kevin rushed in. "Uh, Dean I think you should check up on your angel. He's acting weird."_

_ Dean frowned over his shoulder at Kevin as he put away the last of the dishes and closed the cabinet. "Dude, Cas isn't _my_ anything. And define weird."_

_ Kevin gave him a flat look like he was saying _I don't buy your bullshit for a second_, and said, "How about bolting into the bathroom, still covered in blood, and refusing to answer when I bang on the door twenty minutes later. Does that qualify?"_

_ Two minutes later Dean found himself outside that same locked bathroom door, pounding on the heavy wood and demanding Cas answer him. When no reply came a certain conversation started to blare on repeat through Deans mind, and he was expecting the worst when he pulled himself together long enough to pick the lock. _

_ He breathed a huge sigh of relief when he saw Cas standing in front of the sink, clearly alive and well, and, just like Kevin told him, still covered in Ezekiel's blood. The floor was slick with a mixture of water and blood, and Dean was beginning to wonder if all of it was Zeke's_

_The angel didn't seem to register his arrival, completely focused on his task. Dean closed the door behind him and approached Cas slowly as he tried to assess the situation._

"_Cas, what are you doing?"_

_Dean took note of the sink running, the stream steady enough for Castiel to cup his hands beneath the flow and methodically bring handfuls of water in a futile attempt to clean the bloody feathers. The effort was wasted and only succeeded in turning the bathroom floor into a kiddie pool. He didn't think Cas heard him, adrift in his own thoughts. The angel looked distraught and lost, as if now that he had gotten himself and Ezekiel to safety there was nothing left to hold him up. Like he was little more than a puppet with the strings cut._

_Dean silently raged at the memories that thought stirred up. _

_He strode forward before he realized he had made the decision to move. _

"_Cas, stop." He took hold of his wrists and brought them to stillness. They were shaking. "Come on man, talk to me."_

Please.

"_The blood won't come off," came the graveled whisper. _

_Okay. Not what he was expecting, but okay. This, at least Dean could help with._

_Without a word he steered Cas to sit at the edge of the tub. Cas let himself be handled and only gave a faint nod when Dean told him to stay put as he went to get washcloths and a stack of freshly dried towels. It didn't take long for Dean to get the tub half full with warm water. He kneeled in front of his friend and dipped the first washcloth in and set to work on cleaning the dark feathers. As he worked, he realized there were layers of dirt and grime, as well as what looked like ash, and Dean wondered exactly how much shit Cas had to go through before coming here._

_Halfway through the first wing the water was already a dark murky grey and Dean couldn't help but comment, "You would think you would just be able to mojo these things clean."_

_The wing dropped unexpectedly out from under his hand, folding in close to his body in a defensive motion that looked more automatic than intentional. The words that followed left Dean cold._

"_I can't." The words were so soft that if he hadn't been so close he never would have heard it._

_Dean leaned back, resting his weight on his heels and trying to catch the angel's eyes, clearly worried. "Cas?"_

"_I can't," Cas repeated, louder, and finally met Dean's gaze, as if he could fix everything if he stared hard enough. "Metatron, he . . . Dean, my Grace was cut out."_

_There was a second where Dean felt like the bottom dropped out of his stomach before a cold rage flooded through his veins. Cut out. Not lost, not diminished,_ cut out! _Deliberately done, intentionally, and from the sounds of it against his will._

"_It was a spell," Cas continued, as if now that he started the words wouldn't stop coming. "There were never any trials. Metatron lied to me. He used me to accomplish his own revenge against the Host. My grace was the final ingredient. Ezekiel, and all of our brothers and sisters, _all_ of them fell because I was naïve. Because I foolishly believed I could fix all the mistakes I've made. Every time I attempt to repent for my sins, or try to fix my mistakes, I always misstep. I'm so tired Dean, I don't know how many times I can watch my good intentions crumble beneath my fingers. I'm powerless. I cant fly, I cant heal, I'm useless."_

And now I'm powerless. I'm hapless, I'm hopeless.

The very touch of you corrupts!

_Dean lurched forward, grabbing Castiel by the front of his shirt, and gave him a hard shake. "Don't you say that!" he growled, and he forced himself to speak past the lump suddenly lodged in his throat. "Don't you dare! You here me, Cas? Every goddamned person in this fucked up family has screwed up royally, okay? All of us! You, me, Sam, shit, even Gabriel! But you keep trying! You are not useless! So don't you _dare_ tell me that."_

_Blue eyes met his, a bit more focused than before, but still laden with a tangible sadness. Castiel covered Dean's hands with his own, slowly loosening his fingers from the fabric. "You and your brother still closed the Gates of Hell."_

_Dean nearly broke down in hysterical laughter, luckily all that escaped was a dry, mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, but only because I was too late to stop Sam." Realizing he was quickly loosing composure, he switched tactics. "You said your grace is gone, right? So essentially that means you're just a human with big, fluffy wings. And you know what? Us humans are resilient bastards. Especially when you're a Winchester."_

"_But I'm not a Winchester."_

_Dean did laugh then, more genuine this time. "You've died more than once, helped save the world on several occasions and have come out of Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory and lived to tell about it. I think you qualify. Unless you don't want the title, it's kinda cursed after all."_

_There Cas was, as focused and collected as he could be given the situation, and for one brief moment Dean he felt a pulse of power he knew wasn't actually there. "You once told me that you would rather have me, cursed or not." His shoulders straitened and his chin lifted, a soldier receiving a badge of honor. "I would be proud to bear the name of Winchester."_

Not counting all their strays, the Winchester Extended Family had grown in ways that Dean was sure his father would never have understood much less condone. But that didn't matter. Because even with all their scars and still healing wounds, everyone here had a place. Some of them were broken in ways that would never heal completely, but that was okay, because who here hadn't been broken at some point or another?

Dean sat at the table and smiled as he watched Sam and Gabe argue over the merits of peanut butter cups as breakfast items. Cas was helping Mihael and Ramiel salvage their attempts at an omelet, snickering when _Crowley_ came over with a scowl and a scathing reply that angels should be banned from the kitchen, and took over the stove to show them how it was done. Kevin sat between Dean and Zeke, as the two engaged in rather in-depth conversation about the proper phonetics of dead languages.

This was so not how Dean had pictured his life.

But he was happy with that.


End file.
